Circus Running Rings Around The Country

The 200 Members Of The Carson & Barnes Circus Troupe Have Been On The Road Since March, Performing Twice A Day, Seven Days A Week.

October 07, 1998|By Kathleen Knowles-Wantuch. Special to the Tribune.

As gray dawn fades into daybreak, the parade of lights from the Carson & Barnes Circus caravan can be seen meandering down the highway.

Every day this week, the circus has come to a different Illinois town: On Monday, it was Steger; on Tuesday, Morris; on Wednesday, it should be in Rock Falls.

At each stop, like the Pied Piper, the line of wagons beckons children of all ages to come watch a grand show before the show--the hoisting of the big top, done with the help of four majestic elephants.

"Circuses like these have almost all disappeared," said Nick Thiery Jr., 85, who came to south suburban Steger on Monday from St. John, Ind., to watch.

Recalling the circuses of his childhood, Thiery remembers running after the horse-drawn wagons as they pulled into town. "When they were setting up, we would run down to the creek to get water for the animals," he said. "The basic idea is the same as when I was a boy--the only difference is the tents were made of canvas and the stakes were pounded into the ground by hand."

In Steger, the vacant lot at the edge of town soon rumbles with power-driven hammers slamming huge stakes into the ground as workers unload long poles and 10 tons of tent material. The 30 members of the rigging crew unfold the massive tent, one section at a time, until it is larger than a football field.

Then the big-top boss signals to the elephant boss, who sends his charges into action.

Swaying majestically, Susie, Barbara, Minnie and Isla lumber up to the tent to complete the task. Draped over the elephants' shoulders are heavy-duty work harnesses, fashioned after those worn for generations by domesticated Asian elephants at Burmese logging plantations.

In what seems like an effortless motion, the four elephants take their places under the tents and pull the poles together, raising the tent and transforming the lifeless tarp into a colorful big top.

Doug and Cindy Brown of Steger had never seen a circus up close. They brought their children Alexis, 4, and Nicholas, 1 1/2, to see the elephants.

"I have never seen anything like this before except on television," Doug Brown said. "(The kids) may never get this chance again."

Rushing about, electricians place the cables and lights while the performers set up their props and poles.

Thirty years ago, after spending three months at the University of Illinois at Chicago, Royale decided to run away with the circus.

"As November began approaching and the wind began howling and blowing through this town, I decided I wanted to be in a warmer climate," he said. "I had always been interested in the circus from the time I was very young, so when I heard the circus was in Ocean Springs, Miss., I headed down there.

"That was in 1966, and here I am today."

In the 1930s and '40s, scores of big-tent circuses crisscrossed the country, Royale said, but now the Carson & Barnes Circus is among the last of those monster tent shows.

"That's what makes this circus so special," he said. "Many have never seen a live circus set up, and I love looking out over the crowd and seeing grandparents and their grandchildren watching as (workers) hoist the big top.

"They both have the same expression in their eyes--that of excitement and joy. That's what the circus is all about--joy."

Since March, the circus has been performing two shows a day, seven days a week. Over the next week and a half, it will hit more than 10 towns in Illinois, as well as Paducah, Ky.

In a month, the 200-member circus will go on winter break until next spring. Some will go back to their families. Others will care for the animals at the circus' winter quarters in Hugo, Okla.

Ringmaster John Moss has been with the show for five years. His wife, Reyna, is a showgirl and dog trainer. Traveling with their 5-month-old son, John IV, the Mosses have made the road their home.

"This is a way of life," John Moss said. "You have to love it to do it."

By midafternoon Monday in Steger, the five-ring circus has come alive, with Moss trading in his baseball cap for a top hat to welcome guests to the spectacle.

Two shows later, about 10 p.m., the big top begins to disappear into the darkness. Electricians uproot and roll the cable that provided light for the stage. Soon, the main tent collapses. The elephants help to pull up the stakes and move out the poles. In an hour, it's all gone.